The living room of Juniper in the summer of 2017.

I’ve been living in my house for a little over a month and I’ve noted several things have changed about my life.

For one,  I wake up in a loft, which is still terrifying. In my sleepy state, I climb down a ladder and I can’t tell you how many close calls I’ve had.

Two, the reason behind this blog post: I no longer feel the need to keep an excess of anything.

Over the last month, I’ve thrown out half of my stuff. At this point, I’ve downsized more times than I’d like to publicly admit. (I had a lot of stuff. In fact, TOO MUCH stuff.)

Now that I’m down to a “minimal” amount of things, I now feel like I’m “clutter free.” Yes, that sounds corny, but it’s true.

I’ve paired down to the essentials and I’ve only kept what gives me the most satisfaction in my life. Examples: My record collection, an assortment of wild socks and several coffee mugs from around the world. (That’s not all I have, but you get the idea.)

It’s freeing to know the things I own each has a designated purpose. They don’t just lie around and gather dust. Instead, my things don’t have the chance to gather dust because it’s being used.

To some more experienced “minimalists”, what I have may be a bit much.

For example, I’ve got three pairs of shoes. I know it may seem like a bit much, but each set has a purpose. My tennis shoes are for working out. My boots for everyday wear. My wing tips for work.

My clothes are a bit different. I’ve learned how to mix and match, to take the little I have and give it maximum usage. I layer, layer and layer some more. (Although layering doesn’t really work in the middle of a Texas summer.)

Everything I own has a dual responsibility, which at the end of the day, is the goal.

Trust me, it wasn’t easy throwing out some of my high school t-shirts that held so much meaning from my teenage years. But, if I’ve learned anything over the course of this project, it’s that things don’t hold the meaning; we assign meaning to them. It’s the memories in our minds that will last forever and not the thing itself. (Ugh, super corny again. I’m sorry.)

Yes, sometimes it’s hard to let go.  But the feeling of having room to breathe is so much more rewarding. Especially in a tiny house.

To me, letting go has become sort of an art form.

Now please, refrain from buying me things to fill Juniper with. If you must,  I prefer money to pay off my credit cards.

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